


The Five Times Greg Caught Mycroft & the One Time Mycroft Caught Greg

by Ismira_Daugene



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5+1 Things, Asexual Character, Asexual Mycroft, First Dates, Flirty Greg, Fluff, Getting Together, Greg really likes catching Mycroft, M/M, Mycroft blushes a lot, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Romance, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series, Romance, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7750666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ismira_Daugene/pseuds/Ismira_Daugene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft isn't particularly clumsy, but it appears that the universe is out to get him.  Luckily, Greg Lestrade just happens to be there to catch him in more ways than one.</p><p>Mystrade 5+1</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Tea, sir?" Lewiston asked as he pushed a tea trolley into Mycroft's home office.

The English bureaucrat barely glanced up from his writing. "Just one cup, Lewiston. No sugar."

"Yes, sir," the personal butler swiftly poured a steaming cup of tea and placed it on a saucer at Mycroft's elbow. "Can I get you anything else, sir? Something to eat perhaps?"

"No, that will be all, Lewiston. You can go for the night," Mycroft didn't pause in his writing.

"Of course, sir," Lewiston gave a small nod of his head and turned to calmly stride out of the office, closing the door behind him.

Mycroft continued writing for a few minutes before pausing to pick up the teacup. He took a small sip, set the cup down, and continued writing. The cup didn't move the rest of the night, and Mycroft went to bed long after it stopped steaming.

oOoOoOo

Early the next morning found Lewiston opening the back door on a black sedan in order for Mycroft to slide in. Anthea, his personal assistant, was already waiting for him. "Good morning, sir," she nodded toward him, taking her eyes away from her Blackberry for a moment.

"Good morning, Anthea. What do we have today?"

"Meeting with the Minister of Foreign Affairs at eight, the Iranian delegation at eleven, the Speaker of the House of Commons at three, and you were invited to a benefit this evening at seven."

"Benefit for what?"

"Saint Theresa's Orphanage. The Prime Minister is supposed to be making an appearance as well."

Mycroft nodded as he glanced through a folder containing preparatory information for his eight o'clock meeting. Anthea continued to go into detail on the various meetings and reports waiting for him. "Shall I have breakfast sent to your desk?" Anthea asked as they pulled up to the Diogenes Club where Mycroft kept his public office.

"That won't be necessary, Ms. Hollingberry," he replied gathering up his things and stepping out of the car.

All in all, the day went remarkably well. The meeting with the Minister of Foreign Affairs ended in Mycroft's favor. He was fairly confident that the upcoming vote would swing his way. The meeting with the Iranian delegation on the other hand was not quite as clear cut. Both parties had to give a little to get some of what they wanted, and Mycroft knew there would be future meetings soon to hammer out the finer details. He declined the offer of lunch from Anthea afterwards, claiming there was too much to do, and proceeded to read through reports and sip at tea that his PA continued to supply.

It was nearing half past five when Anthea set another report on his desk that his personal mobile phone rang. Only a select few had the number, and usually it wasn't good news when they called. This time was no exception. "Detective Inspector Lestrade," he greeted the man on the other end of the line. He listened for a few moments before letting out a sigh and running his hand through his sparse hair. "I'll be right there," he finally said before hanging up. "Anthea," he called his PA back in. "Cancel the benefit tonight."

"Yes, sir. Shall I call Lewiston around?"

"Do."

"Right away, sir."

Mycroft slipped on his jacket and grabbed his umbrella and briefcase before heading out the door. By the time he reached the lobby entrance, Lewiston had already pulled the black sedan around and Anthea was waiting. "You can go home for the evening, Ms. Hollingberry," he told his PA.

Anthea looked up, one eyebrow quirked upward. "Are you sure, sir?"

"Very much so. I don't need another witness to my delinquent of a brother," he gave her a tight lipped forced smile.

Anthea nodded and walked off to gather her things for the night. Mycroft entered the back of the sedan. "Scotland Yard, Lewiston," he ordered.

"Right away, sir."

Twenty minutes later found Mycroft entering the office of Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. The man had been promoted only less than a year ago, but somehow in that time he'd found Sherlock Holmes… and hadn't been able to get rid of him. All the other Detectives seemed to think that Lestrade was Holmes' handler. As a result, he was now in the small group of people who had Mycroft Holmes' personal mobile phone number. "Mr. Holmes," Lestrade stood from his desk, piled high with papers.

Mycroft held up a hand and Lestrade sank back down. He eyed the silver haired detective for a moment, admiring the way his premature colored hair complimented the man's complexion. "What's he done this time?" he asked, propping himself up on his umbrella. He was starting to feel a bit lightheaded, but hell if he would let anyone else know that.

Lestrade sighed and shook his head. "That brother of yours is going to get himself killed one of these days. But I'll be damned if he ain't right nearly every time." Lestrade took a sip of the tepid tea sitting in the paper cup on his desk. He grimaced, and put the cup back down quickly before turning back to Mycroft. "He's in for breaking and entering, obstructing an investigation, and stealing a bus."

"A bus?"

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Yeah, one of those touristy double-deckers."

Mycroft frowned and slowly shook his head, but quickly stopped as it only increased the feeling of lightheadedness. He swayed slightly, but managed to catch himself and make it look like he was just shifting his weight. "What do I need to do to take him home tonight?" he asked quietly. His ears were suddenly ringing.

Lestrade eyed him for a moment, but didn't comment. "Fill out the paperwork and we'll call it a night. The charges will be dropped because he helped us catch the guy responsible for a double homicide. He was good, he was. But don't tell him I said that." Mycroft gave the Inspector a genuine smile, understanding exactly how much he didn't want to add to Sherlock's ego. Lestrade stood suddenly. "Right, let's get you the paperwork, and then I'll get your brother out."

He moved around the desk. Mycroft's eyes followed him, but suddenly black spots danced in front of him and everything tilted sideways. "Mr. Holmes!" was the last thing he heard.

oOoOoOo

"Mr. Holmes? Sally get an EMT up here! Mr. Holmes!"

A solid arm was supporting his shoulders and his head was cushioned on something firm, but warm. Mycroft struggled to open his eyes, but finally managed to do so only to see the ceiling of Detective Inspector Lestrade's office and a concerned pair of warm brown eyes gazing down at him. "Mr. Holmes?" he called out to him.

"Gregory? What… How?" he murmured, finally noticing that his head was cushioned on Greg's thigh.

"You fainted," Greg replied quickly. "I've called up one of the EMT's, but I think I caught you in time. Still, better safe than sorry."

Mycroft blushed furiously and pushed himself up, his head still spinning. "I don't need medical attention," he grumbled.

"We'll let the EMT decide that," Greg said firmly as he pressed Mycroft back down. "Just take it easy."

Mycroft was about to insist on being let back up when a short Indian woman appeared carrying a bag with the familiar Caduceus symbol on it. She knelt down beside them both and took out a pen light to flick into Mycroft's eyes. "What happened?" she asked.

"Thanks for coming up, Chandra. Not sure what happened. He was standing one second then the next he was falling," Greg answered.

"Did he hit his head?"

"No, I caught him."

"Mr. …?"

"Holmes," Mycroft answered, a tinge of anger in his voice. "And I'm fine."

"Mr. Holmes, does anything hurt?"

"No."

"Are you feeling dizzy?"

"I told you, I'm fine! Now let me back up!"

Chandra and Greg allowed him to sit up. "Have you been eating and drinking regularly today?" the woman persisted.

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes. "I just had a dizzy spell. That's all! Now if you don't mind, I'd like to collect my brother and be on my way."

"Sir, I wouldn't recommend driving…"

"I have a driver!" Mycroft snapped as he rose to his feet with Greg's support. However he quickly jerked his arm out of the Detective's grasp the moment he was upright.

Chandra rose as well and frowned. "Very well, Mr. Holmes. I recommend resting for the evening and getting some fluids and a bit of food in you before bed. If you continue to feel dizzy, please visit your doctor as soon as possible."

"Yes, yes, can we get on with it?" Mycroft snatched up his umbrella and straightened his jacket.

Chandra rolled her eyes and walked out muttering something about difficult patients. Greg rubbed the back of his neck, eyeing Mycroft with a worried expression. "You sure you're alright?"

"Fine, Gregory," Mycroft replied primly. "The paperwork?"

"Right, um. Why don't you sit down there and I'll go get it," he suggested while gesturing to one of the two chairs in front of his desk. Mycroft harrumphed, but did sit down. Greg sent him a small smile and darted off to collect the paperwork.

Half an hour later, Sherlock was being led out of the station and Greg was walking beside Mycroft. "You don't have to see us out, Inspector," the elder Holmes waved him off.

"I'd feel better seeing that you made it out to your vehicle."

"I assure you that I'm feeling much better. The tea helped immensely," he replied referring to the paper cup of tea Greg had brought back in with the paperwork.

"You barely drank any of it," Greg commented.

"Still, your effort has not gone unnoticed. Now, we have made it to my vehicle, I bid you good evening," Mycroft nodded to the Detective Inspector.

"Right," Greg rubbed the back of his neck again. "Just… you know… if you ever need something… help or…"

"I'll call," Mycroft slid into the back of the sedan. "Good evening Inspector."

With that, he closed the door and the car slid into traffic. "Lestrade seems overly concerned with you," Sherlock commented.

"He needn't be," Mycroft replied.

"You did faint in the man's office."

Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. His younger brother missed very little, unfortunately. "It is none of your concern. Shall I drop you off at Montague Street?"

"Do whatever you like, Mycroft," Sherlock dismissed him.

The two brothers completed the ride back to Sherlock's flat on Montague Street in silence. A slamming car door was Sherlock's goodbye to his elder brother. Mycroft sighed as he watched his younger sibling stalk up the front stairs and into his flat. He signaled his driver to head home and put his thoughts away from Sherlock. There was little he could do for his brother at the moment. At least he'd stopped using drugs. The Detective Inspector had made it perfectly clear that Sherlock was not allowed at any crime scenes unless sober. It had been a struggle at first, and Sherlock had tried to sneak it past Lestrade, but the Inspector was particularly good at recognizing when someone was using. Mycroft would forever be in his debt for that at least. And apparently for the man catching him as he fell this evening.

Mycroft blushed at the thought of the handsome Scotland Yard Inspector's arms wrapping around him to catch him as he fell. He was not above admitting that he found the DI attractive, but the demands of his work made it impossible for him to act. He sighed and pushed the thoughts aside as they pulled up to his Victorian townhouse in Holland Park.

"Shall I prepare dinner, sir?" Lewiston asked as they walked up to the front door.

"That won't be necessary."

"Yes, sir. May I be so bold as to point out that Sir has not eaten today?"

Mycroft glanced over at his manservant and frowned. "No you may not be so bold. I'm simply not hungry, Lewiston. I'll take tea in my study though."

"Yes, sir," Lewiston nodded his head and headed off toward the kitchen.

Mycroft hadn't even noticed that he hadn't eaten all day. He simply was not hungry. Every time the thought of food came up, he stomach clenched and he felt slightly sick. Perhaps he was coming down with something?

He entered his study then and sat down at his desk. There was still a mountain of reports to go through, but he didn't particularly feel like reading them just now. Instead he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't open them again until Lewiston came in bearing a tea cart with a pot of Earl Grey and several chocolate digestives. Mycroft eyed them and his butler. The man was apparently going to press the food issue. "Will there be anything else, sir?" he asked after pouring a cup of tea and placing it along with a digestive in front of his employer.

"No, that will be all. Thank you, Lewiston. You may leave for the evening."

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Yes, I'll be fine."

"Of course, sir. Good evening."

Mycroft nodded back and pointedly picked up one of the digestives as his butler walked out the door. Might as well eat the damn thing. No sense in letting it go to waste.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warning** for bodily fluids being expelled. You don't actually read about the event, but you do hear about it afterwards.

It had been two weeks since the fainting incident in Detective Inspector Lestrade's office. In that time, Mycroft had consulted a personal nutritionist who had identified his lack of appetite as stress induced. Between the two of them, they'd worked out a regimen to get him back on track. Sometimes it was difficult because the stress never went away, but he now was aware of the problem, which helped. The concern of one silver haired Detective Inspector however, was not as easily placated. The man had messaged Mycroft nearly a dozen times "just to check-in". He'd responded as simply as possible, and finally the man seemed to take the hint and stopped messaging a couple days ago.

Mycroft had just finished a light lunch when Anthea walked in without knocking. "Sir," she addressed him urgently. "We've just received word from Saint Bartholomew's Hospital that your brother has been admitted."

Mycroft jumped up from his desk, grabbing his jacket. "What for? Is he alright?"

"His condition is currently unstable. It appears he was poisoned."

"By whom?!"

"By whomever is trying to keep him off of Detective Inspector Lestrade's latest homicide case. Lewiston is already waiting for you with the car."

"Thank you, Anthea," he responded as he quickly led the way down the hall and out to the black sedan waiting for them at the curb.

Due to traffic it took nearly a half hour to get to St. Bart's. Along the way, Anthea had managed to get Sherlock's room number, so they wasted no time upon arrival and headed directly there. Mycroft was nearly running down the halls of the hospital. He pushed the door open and marched into the room, but was caught off guard when his feet slipped out from under him three steps in. A strong pair of arms caught him though, preventing him from hitting the hard floor.

"Whoa! Careful there!" a familiar voice exclaimed. "They just mopped up in here. Your brother woke up long enough to get sick all over."

Mycroft exhaled the breath he'd held as he fell and looked up to find DI Lestrade holding him beneath both arms. With care, he climbed back to his feet, trying to hide the blush that crossed his cheeks. "Thank you, Gregory," he said quietly. "How is my brother?" he changed the subject quickly.

"Nurse was just in and pronounced him stable. It appears the up-chucking was what he needed," Greg chuckled and crossed his arms as he came to stand beside Mycroft next to Sherlock's bed. "They've still got him on a drip with the antidote to this particular poison, but it seems he got most of it out of his system by throwing up. It'll take a couple days for him to get back on his feet, but the nurse said he'll be fine."

Mycroft stared down at his brother's pale face and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. He let out a long breath and glanced over at the DI. "Thank you, Gregory. Thank you for being here with him until I could arrive."

"Your brother may be annoying as hell, but he's the best guy I've got, and he ain't even on the force officially."

"Which is all the more reason I appreciate you looking out for him. He won't let me get close to him."

Greg nodded and smirked slightly. "Between watching out for Sherlock and catching you whenever you fall, you're going to owe me one hell of a favor one of these days," he chuckled.

Mycroft's eyes widened and he blushed again. "Whatever you desire, Gregory," he said quickly. He hadn't expected the man to demand a favor.

"Joking! Joking!" Greg said quickly holding up both hands in a placating gesture. "I'm only joking, Mycroft. Look, I'm happy to look after your brother. Like I said, he's damned useful around a crime scene, and I'm coming to see him as my own little brother. And honestly I don't mind you falling into my arms every once and a while," he grinned, winked, and bumped shoulders with the government official.

"I…" Mycroft was at a loss for words and once again his cheeks were hot as he blushed.

"Right, I need to go catch a criminal. Let me know when he's better, yeah?" Greg scooped up his coat from the visitor's chair and gave Mycroft one last grin before headed out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! So I know this was a short chapter, but the next one will be out on Wednesday afternoon! I currently have five out of six chapters written and I figure I can upload every other day! I should be able to finish the sixth chapter in time.


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft sat at his desk the next day fiddling with a fountain pen. He couldn't seem to concentrate on the reports in front of him. He couldn't seem to concentrate at all, actually, which was why it was a good thing that he had no meetings that day. He'd gone into the office early that morning with the intention of slipping out early in order to check-in on Sherlock. His brother had woken overnight and had demanded to be let out of the hospital despite how much the doctors advised against it. This had led Mycroft to pay a visit to St. Bart's at around 2:30AM. It had taken nearly an hour, but the elder Holmes convinced his brother to stay at least for the night. He could leave at mid-day the next day.

Aside from Sherlock, Mycroft also had a certain Detective Inspector occupying his thoughts. The silver haired man had indicated that he was interested in the politician the previous night. How deep that interest went was still a mystery though. It was obvious that some sort of physicality would be involved in the relationship, which Mycroft still found surprising. There weren't many who had wanted a physical relationship with him. For the most part, others had only been interested in his mind. As a result he'd become suspicious of anyone trying to get close to him from a young age. It also didn't help that he wasn't interested in the intimate side of a relationship.

Sure, he'd enjoyed hugs and holding hands and the occasional kiss. However when it came to the act of sex, Mycroft simply was not interested. The idea of placing that much trust in someone and subjecting himself to their approval was not something that appealed to him. Nor was the mess (both physical and emotional) appealing. He would never admit it to anyone, but the idea of sex (whether with a stranger or someone he knew) made him extremely uncomfortable. The few times in university when he'd gotten close to having intimate relations had ended with him being called a bastard (among other unsavory names) and the other person marching out. Eventually he'd just given up on any sort of relationship and began rebuffing any who tried to start one. This had earned him the nickname Ice Man rather quickly.

Gregory Sébastien Lestrade was different though. For one thing, Gregory had no need for Mycroft's status or intellect. He was already a Detective Inspector with Scotland Yard and seemed content to remain so. He was not seeking a promotion through their acquaintance. As for intelligence, Gregory had Sherlock for that. The DI, while annoyed with Sherlock quite often, was happy to work with the younger Holmes for insight on cases. Therefore the only logical conclusion Mycroft could come to was that Gregory Lestrade truly wanted a relationship with him just for him. However Mycroft was reluctant to accept because of his previous experiences with those who discovered his lack of a desire towards coitus.

Mycroft let out a sigh and placed the pen he'd been playing with down on the desk. He could read these reports later at his home office. For now it was nearly midday and Sherlock would be getting released from the hospital soon. He wanted to be there on the slim chance that Sherlock would listen to him and go rest for the day at his flat on Montague Street. He was just getting in his vehicle when his personal mobile rang. Glancing at the caller ID, he felt a nervous flutter run through his abdomen upon seeing Gregory's name, but he swallowed his nervousness and answered calmly. "Detective Inspector," he greeted. "What can I do for you?"

"First off, you can tell Sherlock to stop texting me for information on the case. I told him that I'm not giving him anything else until he can keep down more than a cuppa tea."

"I thank you for that, Gregory, and I shall try my best, but I think we both know how much joy Sherlock derives from doing the opposite of what I ask."

Greg sighed. "Ain't that the truth?" he chuckled. "But no really I could use your help so that Sherlock stays put and recovers a bit."

"Of course, whatever will assist in speeding my brother's recovery."

"Great! If you wouldn't mind coming down to Clapham, I could use a consultant. This guy is getting desperate if he's willing to poison your brother, but he's not making any mistakes! Normally they start messing up when they get desperate."

"Text me the address and I shall be there promptly." They hung up and a few seconds later a text message came through with the address. Mycroft directed Lewiston to their new destination then called Anthea to attend to Sherlock's release from the hospital. She would make sure he got home safely if nothing else.

The butterflies in Mycroft's stomach fluttered anxiously the entire drive to Clapham, but once they pulled up in front of the house marked off with police tape, he took in a deep breath and pulled on a blank visage. "Gregory," he addressed the DI as they met at the tape line.

"Thanks for coming, Myc," he grinned. Mycroft raised a brow at the shortening of his name, but didn't comment. "It's a locked door double homicide," Greg explained as he led the way. "As far as we can figure, the target was old Mr. Whitmoore, but his butler happened to walk in at the wrong time and got a bullet in the chest for his troubles. A patrol car happened to be in the neighborhood and heard a gunshot, so they came to check it out only to find two bodies locked inside the house and no evidence of forced entry."

They walked into Mr. Whitmoore's study then and Mycroft could see the old man sprawled on an expensive looking carpet. Blood had soaked into the rug and pooled around his head where he'd been shot at point blank range. The butler on the other hand lay near the door as though he'd only walked in when the killer shot him. Mycroft studied the room and walked closer to the bodies. Upon crouching to examine the butler a little closer, he made a startling discovery. "Gregory," he called the DI over as he stood. "I believe if you examine the chemical makeup of the supposed blood on the butler's clothing you will find it to be fake."

"What?" Greg asked incredulously at the same time the supposedly dead butler jumped agilely to his feet, pushed Mycroft into Greg, and dashed out the door! Greg caught Mycroft's weight, but couldn't keep them both upright. They toppled to the floor hard, Mycroft landing between Greg's legs. "Damnit!" Greg cursed and quickly shouted into his radio. "Suspect making a run out the front door! Butler isn't dead! Repeat, Butler isn't dead!"

There was a flurry of activity out in the hall and in a short amount of time they heard a loud thump as one of the other police officers tackled the man. Mycroft and Greg had a bit of a time getting untangled and back on their feet, but with some effort they were soon out in the hall watching the man being cuffed and led away to a patrol car. Greg rubbed at his backside as they watched. "Gotta feeling I'm gonna have a bruise tomorrow," he grumbled. "You okay?" he turned his attention to Mycroft.

"Yes, I'm fine. You broke my fall, thank you."

Greg grinned. "Like I said, I don't mind you falling into my arms."

Mycroft felt his cheeks burn and cursed his pale complexion. "Yes, you've said." He was rather proud of how even and bland he kept his voice.

"How about we do something that has little chance of my needing to catch you?" Greg suggested turning to face the politician fully.

"Such as?"

"Coffee? There's this great café I go to sometimes. Has the best baklavas in London."

Mycroft let his surprise show for just an instant before hiding it again. "That… would be nice," he replied.

"Great! How does Wednesday sound?"

"I believe I'll be able to manage it."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't want to interrupt your busy schedule of political dueling."

Sergeant Donovan poked her head in the front door just then and spotted Lestrade. "Sir, we need you outside."

"Be right there, Sally," Greg called back. Sally nodded and went back out. "Right, I'll message you the address. Thanks for the help today!"

"It was nothing."

"See ya, Wednesday morning!"

Mycroft nodded in agreement as the Detective Inspector walked off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters are getting longer from here on out! Also, the next chapter is probably my favorite! I can't wait for you guys to read it! It will be out this Friday!


	4. Chapter 4

The name of the café was Şafak. It meant "dawn" in Turkish, which seemed appropriate given the nature of the place. When Mycroft arrived early Wednesday morning, he paused for a moment to admire the modern coffee shoppe that still managed to hold an air of Middle Eastern mysticism despite being in the middle of London. Wooden tables and chairs were scattered around the café along with a few early morning customers, but he was able to spot Greg right away near one of the windows. The silver haired man waved and grinned causing Mycroft to smile a little as he made his way through the maze of tables. "I already ordered for us both," Greg said as Mycroft sat down after hanging his umbrella on the back of the chair. It had been raining on and off all night and into the morning, nothing new for London. "I hope you don't mind." Greg sat with his hands folded in front of him over the sports section of that day's newspaper.

"Not at all, Gregory. You seem to know this place well." Mycroft scooted his chair closer to the table.

Greg smiled and nodded. "I got the house specialty coffee and a sampler plate of their best pastries."

"I'm sure I'll enjoy it if it's everything you say it is." Mycroft smoothed out his suit jacket then folded his hands in front of him on the table as well. "Did you find who poisoned my brother yet?"

"Oh yeah! That butler chap who tried to fake his own death? It was him."

"Indeed?"

"Yeah, turns out he served as butler for quite a few wealthy people in the London area, but they all ended up firing him after a while because they always caught him stealing. Well apparently he got sick of it and decided to change his identity, disguise himself, get re-hired by his old bosses, and start killing them off, stealing 'em blind afterwards. Sherlock apparently got too close to figuring it out when he visited Mr. Whitmoore prior to his death. He took some tea while he interviewed Mr. Whitmoore, which gave our killer the opportunity to poison him."

Mycroft's eyebrows lifted in interest as Greg told the story. "Impressive," he commented. "However I must ask why he faked his own death instead of running after killing Mr. Whitmoore?"

Greg looked at the politician in surprise. "You mean you haven't figured it out?"

Mycroft's lips quirked upwards a tick. "I have," he admitted. He hesitated a moment before saying, "However I enjoy hearing you speak, especially when you're excited about a recently solved case." Greg's eyes widened for a moment in surprise before his mouth stretched wide in a genuine smile. His cheeks even turned a ruddy color for a minute. "Please, indulge me, Inspector," Mycroft waved a hand for him to continue.

Greg's grin stayed in place as he finished the story. "Okay then. Well the guy finally made a mistake. He didn't pay attention to the patrol car routines. He wasn't counting on a patrol showing up so soon. When he heard the sirens, he quickly made up a batch of fake blood. You know… corn syrup and food coloring mostly. We think he was waiting for the gap between when we finish processing the scene and the medical examiner moves in to make a run for it. Might've worked too if you hadn't been there." He leaned forward a bit. "Though I'd like to think I could tell a dead guy from a fake dead guy. So maybe he wouldn't have gotten away after all."

"I have the utmost confidence that you would have noticed eventually had I not been there, Gregory." Mycroft sent the detective a smirk just as their order arrived.

"Oh good! I'm starving!" Greg grinned as a gleaming copper tray was set in front of them holding a steaming carafe of strong Turkish coffee as well as several types of pastries.

"Can I get you anything else, sirs?" the waitress asked.

Greg looked to Mycroft who shook his head. "No, this should do, thanks," he smiled at the young woman.

"I recognize baklava," Mycroft commented pointing towards the walnut flavored phyllo wrapped pastries. "However I'm unfamiliar with the rest."

Greg seemed to straighten as he began pointing out the different options. "This one is called _kaymakli kayisi_ ," he pointed at a soft round looking bun that had crushed pistachios covering the top. "It's made with dried apricots, sugar syrup, and stuffed with clotted cream. And these," he pointed to a circular pastry that looked like a mini pie. "These are _kunefe_. It's a fried cheese pastry made with sugar syrup and phyllo again."

"Interesting," Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"I promise it's better than it sounds," Greg placated. "This one," he pointed to a chocolate layered cake looking pastry. "Is _pudingli pasta_. It's not really pudding or pasta though. It's cake made from layered cream biscuits and pudding-like filling." He pointed to the last items on the tray, small marble sized, honey colored balls. "And finally these are _lokma_. They're kind of like donut holes, but not as dense. They've also got more of a citrus flavoring. I think they use lemon peels in them."

Mycroft couldn't help the smile that crossed his face. "I never knew you were so knowledgeable on Turkish pastries."

Greg shrugged, but continued smiling. "My dad owns a café in Paris. I grew up helping out there. Dad's really an amazing chef, and he tried to teach me everything he knew. I loved cooking, but I really excelled at baking. Almost wound up studying to be a professional pastry chef before I changed my mind."

"You grew up in Paris, but you have no trace of an accent?" Mycroft noted as he filled a small plate with one of everything.

"Yeah, mom's side is from London here. My brother, sister, and I spent summers with Grandpa and Grandma Irving. The whole family actually lived here for a few years though when I was a teen. That's when I started to lose my accent."

"Mmm," Mycroft groaned. "This is truly amazing," he pointed his fork toward the _kunefe_."

"I told you so," Greg grinned.

Mycroft returned the grin and continued the conversation. "What made you decide to be a policeman? Seems a stretch from baker?"

Greg frowned as he chewed a bite of _pudingli pasta_. "There was a family that lived down the block from us when we lived here in London. They had a break-in one night. The dad was ex-military and had been allowed to keep his service weapon after retirement. Well the thief got a hold of the gun before Mr. Kendall could. Both Mr. Kendall and their son Louis, who I was friends with, were shot. Louis didn't make it." Greg paused for a moment. He took a deep breath then continued. "The guy was never caught. It was what made me want to help people… made me want to become a Detective Inspector."

"I'm sorry about your friend, Gregory," Mycroft started to reach across the table, but stopped and withdrew his hand, not sure if it was what Greg wanted right then.

However Greg saw the movement and smiled a little as he reached the remaining distance and gripped Mycroft's hand. "Thanks," he intoned quietly. "I haven't told many people that story. It's the kind of thing that sticks with ya no matter how many years have passed." Greg squeezed Mycroft's hand before they both retracted their arms to continue eating their pastries. They sat in companionable silence for a while, eating, drinking, and listening to the soft Turkish music playing overhead. Mycroft usually felt awkward when silence fell over a conversation, but with Gregory (like everything else about the man) it was different.

After they'd both eaten their fill of sugary confections, Gregory folded his hands around his cup of coffee and blew on the steaming bitter black liquid. "Now that I've spilled my childhood all over, what about you?" he asked. "Unless you don't want to, no pressure," he added quickly.

Mycroft smiled after taking a sip of his own coffee. "No, a measure of equivalent exchange is required here. Like yourself, half of my family is in France. Though for me, it's my mother's side. The Renaud's live just outside Lyon. Grandmaman and Grandpère Renaud have a large country estate to the north east of the city. Sherlock and I spent much of our childhood there." He smiled fondly at the memories of the French countryside. "Though we both went to school here England. Our father passed away from stroke when I was fourteen and Sherlock only seven. Mummy took it rather hard and closed herself off from the world for a long time. I took care of Sherlock as best I could, but we spent a few years with Grandfather and Grandmother Holmes."

"Wow, I didn't know your father passed so young," Greg frowned sympathetically. "It would explain Sherlock's behavior a bit though," he commented thoughtfully.

Mycroft nodded. "Yes, he resented me taking father's place, but there was no one else to do it aside from the Holmes family's staff. Grandfather Holmes was always away in London managing his political career, and Grandmother Holmes was a rather disagreeable old woman who blamed our mother for our father's early death. She never gave any reasoning for why she thought so, but was always quite frigid towards our mother."

He took another sip of coffee as he organized his thoughts. "It was part of the reason I was so eager to leave for university. I left Sherlock at the Holmes family estate about a year and a half after father's death and never looked back. Something I regret deeply now."

Greg studied the elder Holmes brother for a moment and frowned. "You blame yourself for his drug addiction, don't you?"

"Wouldn't you? I left him when he needed me the most."

This time Greg initiated contact, reaching across the table and gripping Mycroft's wrist. "You did what you had to do. It isn't your fault that Sherlock turned to drugs to solve his problems. You can't be responsible for other's actions, Myc."

Mycroft let out a sigh and turned his hand palm up so that they were holding hands again. He squeezed the tan fingers gripping his tightly. "Thank you, Gregory, but I'm afraid we'll have to agree to disagree."

Greg frowned, but didn't push the issue. Instead he kept hold of Mycroft's hand across the small table, maintaining contact. The waitress chose that time to come back to their table, and they both looked up as she seemed to notice the somber air and hesitantly asked, "Can I get you anything, sirs?"

"A to-go box for these, maybe?" Greg answered pointing to the leftover pastries.

"Sure!" she quickly walked back behind the counter and returned with a box for them along with their bill.

Greg snatched up the ticket before Mycroft could. "My treat," he smiled, and fished out his wallet. They paid at the counter, and walked out of the café together. Greg paused though when they reached the sidewalk where they would part ways. "Mycroft," he said softly. He was looking into the other man's eyes, a warm small smile on his face. "Would you mind if I kissed you?" he asked.

Mycroft widened his eyes in surprise. He'd never been asked permission to be kissed. However he found he appreciated it and gave a small nod along with a quiet, "Yes."

Greg reached up to softly touch his lips to Mycroft's. The Detective Inspector was only a few inches shorter, but Mycroft still found he enjoyed the feeling of Greg close to him as he reached up to kiss him. One of Greg's hands wrapped around and pressed against Mycroft's back to steady them both as Mycroft's hand rested on Greg's hip. Greg's rough chapped lips pressed warmly against Mycroft's smoother lips, and was just pulling away when the door to the café opened suddenly behind Mycroft. A delivery boy rushed out and ran smack into Mycroft's back, pushing him into Greg's arms. His face went forward and smooshed into where Greg's neck and shoulder met, a woodsy musk scent filling his nostrils. The coffee the delivery boy had been carrying went flying and half of it landed on the two, staining both of their suits with the hot dark liquid. Luckily the material was thick enough that it kept the scalding liquid from burning them, but they were both still covered in coffee.

" _Aman Tanrım!_ (Oh my God!)" the Turkish boy exclaimed. "I'm so sorry, sirs! So sorry! Please! Let me help!" he pulled a wad of napkins from a bag over his shoulder and began trying to pat them down.

Mycroft was still tucked against Greg as he straigtened and brushed the young Turkish boy away. "It's fine, it was an accident," he said in a voice that was clearly annoyed, but not accusatory.

"Oh but I am so sorry!" the boy kept saying. "I can give you money for dry cleaning?"

"No, that's fine," Greg declared. "Just watch your step next time, eh?"

The boy looked like he wanted to protest, but the two men started to walk off. It wasn't until they reached Mycroft's black sedan that he noticed Greg still had his arm around Mycroft's waist, hand pressed against his lower back still. "Can I give you a lift?" he asked.

Greg shook his head. "Nah, I've got my car around the corner. Gonna run home and wash up quick before going into work."

Mycroft nodded. "Despite the rather unfortunate incident towards the end, I rather enjoyed spending time with you this morning, Gregory."

Greg grinned. "Me too, Myc."

"However you were wrong," Mycroft grinned as well.

Greg frowned and furrowed his eyebrows. "About what?"

"You said we would be doing something where you wouldn't need to catch me," he smiled and looked at Greg pointedly.

"HA HA!" Greg burst out laughing. "That's right, I did say that! Well that didn't work."

"Indeed," Mycroft chuckled.

"Guess we'll just have to keep trying until we find something that works, eh?"

"As I recall, you don't mind catching me," Mycroft glanced down to the arm still around his waist. "I'm not sure if I can trust you to make logical decisions in this matter as you seem to enjoy the outcomes."

Greg laughed again and pulled Mycroft closer in a one-armed hug before letting go. "Alright! Alright! You pick next time!"

Mycroft smiled and felt his cheeks grow hot as he considered the possibilities. He was pretty sure he knew what they would be doing next, but wanted to keep it a secret from Greg as he would most likely protest the amount of money he'd be spending on him. "Deal," he said. "Now, we'd best be off if we want to clean up and change before going into the office."

Greg nodded and reached up to peck Mycroft on the cheek quickly. "Text me later," he said as he started to walk away.

Mycroft smiled and nodded, watching the silver haired detective turn the corner before getting in his own vehicle. "Home, please, Lewiston," he orded.

"Yes, sir," Lewiston said, a small grin visible on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Told ya this would be a longer chapter! Like I said, this is probably my favorite chapter. The research I got to do into Turkish desserts was amazing and drool worthy! I have a friend who is from Turkey and she assures me that all of these pastries are amazing!
> 
> So yeah, just letting you know that the next chapter will be up this Monday. I'll be going to my local county fair and working over the weekend and won't have time to upload then. Also, my last year of university starts on Monday! But I'll get the chapter up at some point for you lovely readers!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Love ya!


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a week since their first official date. Mycroft and Gregory had texted back and forth a few times asking after the other's day in that time, but both had had particularly busy schedules to contend with leaving no time to get together. Gregory had been busy first with catch up on paperwork (there was a lot more paperwork than one would suspect when it came to catching homicidal maniacs), and then with another case that had worn him ragged. Sherlock, who was fully recovered from his earlier poisoning, had stepped in upon Greg's request and helped to solve the triple homicide, but even _he_ had been stumped for a while during the case.

There had been one night in particular that had scared both Greg and Mycroft. Sherlock had been particularly vexed with the lack of leads in the case and quietly slipped out to purchase a little something to help organize his thoughts. However Mycroft had suspected that it would be a danger night and had warned Gregory who had a trusted officer staking out Sherlock's Montague Street flat. It was a mark of just how desperate for a hit Sherlock had been that he didn't even notice the plain-clothes officer following him. The officer had quickly called Lestrade who then raced to Sherlock's destination, a small park along the Thames. He'd arrived just as Sherlock was about to make a deal and had wound up arresting the dealer and throwing Sherlock in a cell for the night. The younger Holmes brother had ranted and raved at Lestrade and his officers, but Gregory had held firm. Luckily a lead had come the following morning in the form of a witness who had been too scared to come forward earlier. With her testimony, they'd solved the case quickly. Despite this, Sherlock still was not speaking to either Lestrade or Mycroft at the moment, and was sulking in his flat. Mycroft figured so long as he wasn't going out to buy drugs, that he'd let his brother sulk.

It was Wednesday morning, exactly a week since he'd gone for coffee with Gregory. Mycroft was busy readying himself for a meeting with the Iranian delegation again (they still hadn't come to any agreements) when he received a text message from Gregory.

_Have u forgotten its ur turn to pick what we do? I'm about ready to pick the most likely thing that will have u falling into my arms again. ;) – GL_

Mycroft smiled and texted back.

_I have not forgotten. In fact I have something planned and was about to ask if you were free Friday afternoon? – MH_

There was a pause as Mycroft suspected Greg was checking his schedule. While he waited he gathered up the paperwork he would need at his meeting. As he snapped his briefcase closed, Gregory's response vibrated his phone.

_Assuming the criminals of London cooperate, I should b free then. – GL_

_Excellent. I shall send Lewiston around to pick you up from Scotland Yard at 3PM then. – MH_

_Great! See u then! – GL_

oOoOoOo

Friday afternoon came as slowly as possible. Despite the fact that Mycroft had at least three meetings every day and was constantly busy, it seemed that time only inched forward. It was Friday at 2:30PM when Anthea entered his office after a quiet knock. "What is it, Anthea," he asked not looking up from his computer.

She proceeded to lay several reports on his desk. "Just these, sir."

Mycroft looked up then and raised a brow. He could tell by the tenor of her voice there was more. "And?"

"It's your negotiations with the Iranian delegation, sir."

"What about them?"

"Our intelligence has heard rumors that the Russians are not happy with how they're going."

Mycroft snorted. "The Russians are never happy."

"It's more than that, sir. There's rumors that they're planning to do something about it."

"Like what?"

"Uncertain, sir. However your security task force is recommending you have one of them with you at all times in public."

"That's a bit much, wouldn't you say?" Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"It's not my place to make judgements, sir. Colonel Darrow made the recommendation himself though."

Mycroft let out a sigh, but nodded. "Fine. Tell Colonel Darrow that I will accept his recommendation and give him my schedule."

"Yes, sir," she nodded and began tapping away at her Blackberry to do as he'd asked. "Lewiston is waiting for you in the car, sir."  
Mycroft let a smile creep onto his face then. "Very well," he kept his voice calm though. "I will be unavailable for the rest of the day," he said as he packed up his laptop and a few reports to read later at home.

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Anthea that will be all."

"Yes, sir," she glanced up and gave him a small smile this time before exiting.

Mycroft gratefully left the building and made his way down to the familiar black sedan. "Scotland Yard, Lewiston," he ordered.

"Yes, sir."

They arrived at the Yard at 2:58PM and waited. They didn't have long to wait though before Gregory was walking out the door, Sally Donovan following him. He looked to be giving her last minute instructions as she kept nodding her head. Finally, he gave her a pat on the shoulder and turned to see Mycroft leaning against the back door of the sedan. Greg quickly covered the distance between them and leaned up to place a quick kiss along Mycroft's jawline.

The politician blushed, once again cursing his fair complexion that made it so noticeable, and grabbed hold of Gregory's hand. "Come, I have a surprise for you," he said as they climbed into the back of the sedan.

"Where are we going?" Greg asked, buckling his seatbelt.

"That would ruin the surprise," Mycroft grinned.

The car ride didn't last long, perhaps only twenty minutes before Lewiston pulled up to number 15 Savile Row. A deep green awning with gold gilded lettering proclaimed the red brick building to be Henry Poole & Co. Greg stared with wide eyes as Lewiston strode around the car to open the door. Mycroft slid out and pulled Greg with him. "Shall we?"

"Henry Poole?" he asked incredulously. "I can't afford Henry Poole, Mycroft," he said quietly as he got out of the car.

"You don't need to afford Henry Poole, Gregory. I can afford Henry Poole." He straightened his jacket and led the way into the shop. Greg, still gaping, hurried to catch up. Inside was all dark green carpeting, rosewood shelving, dove gray walls, brass accents, and leather furniture. Impeccable suits, ties, shirts, pocket squares, cufflinks, and tie pins sat on display.

Greg nearly ran into Mycroft as he stopped to hang up his coat. "How can I help you, gentlemen?" a young man dressed in a three piece charcoal gray suit asked with a welcoming smile.

"We have an appointment under Holmes," Mycroft replied.

"But of course, Mr. Holmes!" the man said. "I'm Timothy and will be glad to assist you in any way I can this afternoon." He gave a short bow. "If you'll follow me please?" He turned and led them along the narrow hall to a fitting room with several mirrors and a chair. "Radcliff will be out in a moment with your selections, Mr. Holmes, Mr. Lestrade," Timothy gave another short bow. "I'll be just around the corner should you need anything in the meantime.

"Mycroft, what are we doing here?" Greg whispered, leaning close.

"I'm replacing the suit you lost last we met," he replied.

"I don't need anything this fancy though!" Greg insisted.

Mycroft turned to face Greg who had creased worry lines running across his forehead. "Indulge me, Gregory. I will be asking a tremendous favor of you in a few moments."

"What favor?"

"You'll see," Mycroft smiled as he took a seat in the chair and crossed his legs.

At that moment another man, this one older and with greying hair at his temples, entered with several items laid over his forearm. He hung the shirts, jackets, and pants on the rack against the far wall and turned to face them. "Good afternoon, sirs. I'm Radcliff and I'll be your cutter today. As per your request and measurements given, I've selected several items that would be suitable for Mr. Lestrade. If you'll please try this on for starters, we'll see where to go from there," Radcliff said as he handed Greg a white button up shirt.

Greg took the shirt and glanced over at Mycroft who gave him a small nod. With a sigh, Greg stripped out of his jacket and cheap button-up shirt leaving him in just a sleeveless white undershirt. He carefully pulled on the new shirt and buttoned it up. "And these, sir," Radcliff handed him a pair of black slacks and stepped out, closing the door.

"Do you want me to leave as well?" Mycroft began to rise from his seat.

"Only if it makes you more comfortable," Greg shrugged.

Mycroft considered his options and sat back down. It wasn't like Gregory would be nude. He was just changing into slacks. Greg grinned at him and stripped out of his trousers. He wore navy colored briefs underneath, the same color as a standard policeman's uniform, and Mycroft felt his cheeks burn as he tore his eyes away from the revealing Y-fronts.

A quick thirty seconds later though, Greg was standing there dressed simply in a white shirt and black slacks. Mycroft tapped at the door and Radcliff entered again. He paused to examine Greg from head to toe. "We'll need to take in the shirt a little here," he ran a hand along Greg's waist, just hovering over the actual shirt. "And let it out just a tad here," he pointed along Greg's shoulders. "If you'll please stand with feet apart and arms held at shoulder length?"

Greg did as asked and Radcliff began taking measurements and pinning both the slacks and shirt in places where they needed to be taken in. The entire process of taking measurements lasted almost an hour, and by the end Greg was ready to sit down for a while. Mycroft readily moved from his seat to allow the Detective to rest for a moment while Radcliff went to select a few materials to choose from. "So what is the favor you wanted to ask?" Greg asked looking up at Mycroft from his seated position.

Mycroft's cheeks turned faintly pink again as he looked down to the floor then back up to Greg's warm brown eyes. "This visit is for more than just to replace your sports jacket," he started.

"I gathered," Greg replied, but didn't say any more.

Mycroft sucked in a deep breath and let it out before continuing. "Gregory, as it happens every year, I have been invited to the Royal Caledonian Ball. I have attended stag several times, and each time is an excellent opportunity to learn the most recent happenings of my peers. However in recent years I have found that attending this event solo is not as entertaining as it once was." He paused for a moment and gathered his courage before carrying on. "What I'm trying to say is that I would be honored if you would consider attending with me."

Greg stared at Mycroft for along minute, and Mycroft feared he had gone too far. However a moment later, Gregory stood and took both of Mycroft's hands in his. "I would be glad to go to the ball with you, Mycroft," he replied.

Mycroft smiled brightly. "Thank you, Gregory," he said quietly.

The rest of the afternoon was spent picking out material for both the sports jacket replacement that Mycroft insisted on purchasing for Greg and the white tie suit that would be needed for the Royal Caledonian Ball. In the end they chose the fawn pinhead with light blue window pane overcheck in wool for the sport coat and the milled finish dress barathea midnight for the tux.

oOoOoOo

It took a couple of weeks and several fittings, but eventually the sports coat and white tie tux where ready for their final fitting. If everything fit and Radcliff was happy with how it sat, Greg would be taking them home today. Mycroft and Greg entered the shop and were greeted by Timothy again. He led them back to the fitting room where Radcliff was already waiting for them. "If you'll step inside, Mr. Lestrade, your garments are ready to be tried on. Why don't we do the evening wear first?"

Greg nodded and stepped inside to try on his new outfit. This time, Mycroft waited outside. It only took a few minutes and Greg was opening the door again. The politician gaped at the man before him. No longer was this simply Gregory Lestrade. In front of him was a silver haired fox wrapped in a remarkably well cut suit that hugged his every curve and highlighted his broad shoulders. Mycroft felt himself sway slightly and the next thing he knew Gregory had reached out and pulled him into his chest, both arms wrapped around his torso.

"Whoa there!" He exclaimed as he caught the ginger. "I thought you said that there wouldn't be any catching with this suit business?" he commented with a sly smirk. "Also, did you seriously just go weak in the knees at the sight of me in this suit?"

Mycroft pushed against Greg's chest to right himself. "I beg your pardon, sir, but Holmes' do not go 'weak in the knee'!" he protested taking a step back and crossing his arms.

"Right," Greg drawled. "So if I pull the security footage of this place later, I won't see you literally fall into my arms?"

"That would be an abuse of your authority, Gregory, and frankly I'm shocked to hear you suggest such a thing!" Mycroft looked down his nose at him, but his voice had taken on a playful air.

It was at this point that Radcliff intervened. "If you two are quite finished, let's have a look at you," he grumbled moving to better see Greg. He made several hums and uh huhs as he moved around Greg, examining the suit from every angle. He even had Greg raise and lower his arms as well as cross his arms over his chest to gauge the tightness. "Well, everything seems in order here," he finally approved. "If you're happy with the fit, Mr. Lestrade, I think we can call this suit finished."

Greg looked at himself in the mirror again and turned around. "I would have to say that I'm very happy with the fit, Radcliff," he grinned, eyeing Mycroft.

"Excellent, now go back in there and try on the sports coat."

Mycroft was sorry to see the silver haired fox go, but he knew that come the Royal Caledonian Ball he would be able to stare at Gregory all night long with no shame.

The sports coat fit perfectly as well, and while it did Greg's figure wonders, Mycroft did not need to be caught again. Instead Radcliff put the items in garment bags while Mycroft and Greg headed up front to the desk. "Shall I put this on your account, Mr. Holmes?" Timothy asked typing away at the computer.

"Yes, that will do."

"Are you sure about this, Myc?" Greg asked learning against the counter.

"Of course I'm sure, Gregory. And I won't hear any more about it," Mycroft quickly signed a piece of paper that Timothy put before him with a flourish. "Thank you, Timothy," he said as Radcliff came out with two garment bags.

They thanked Radcliff and he gave a short bow of his head and welcomed them back anytime. Lewiston as well as the personal security guard that Colonel Darrow had assigned were waiting for them outside. Lewiston took care of the garment bag while Lieutenant McIntyre opened the car door. Greg and Mycroft slid into the back seat and were soon being whisked away from Savile Row. Mycroft eyed Greg, who seemed to be struggling to say something. "Do just say what's on your mind, Gregory," he said quietly.

"Well, it's just that…. I want to thank you, but the words don't seem enough."

"The words are plenty, and you're welcome," Mycroft sent him a small smile.

"I feel like a kept man," Greg chuckled.

"You are anything but, Gregory," Mycroft raised an admonishing eyebrow.

"Still, I'd like to thank you properly."

"Oh? And how would that be?"

Greg only smirked as he glanced at the divider window between front and back seats then leaned over and pressed his lips against Mycroft's. The ginger startled slightly at the sudden nearness, but relaxed back into the seat as Greg worked their lips together. It was nice. It was then that Greg's hands started wandering though. His left came up to cup Mycroft's cheek, while his right rested on his chest and began sliding down. Mycroft shivered and closed his eyes. Greg's right hand continued sliding down to the juncture between his lover's legs and gently squeezed. Mycroft jumped and jerked back. "Sorry! Is that not okay?" Greg asked with a furrowed brow indicating his worry.

"I…" Mycroft started, but he was still feeling jumpy, and his breaths were coming fast.

"Myc, it's okay if you don't want to."

Mycroft looked up to see the truth in Greg's warm brown eyes. He'd never had another tell him that it was okay to not want this. Maybe… just maybe Greg would be the first to understand. "I don't want that," he replied quietly once he'd gotten his breathing under control.

Greg's face dropped a little, but he quickly caught it and smiled. "That's fine, Myc. Maybe some other time?"

"No, Greg… just listen," Mycroft stopped him. "I… have _never_ wanted that from anyone," he started. "It's not just you, or this moment." He took in a deep breath as he examined Greg's face. The man's features showed acceptance, if also a little confusion. "Coitus… sex," he began again. "The entire thing makes me extremely uncomfortable. I've never had a desire to have intimate relations with another person, male or female."

"Mycroft," Greg said quietly. "Are you… asexual?"

Mycroft looked up quickly, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Asexual?" he repeated.

"Yeah, you know… when you have no sexual attraction to anyone?"

"I… but I do have… erections. I do respond," he said quietly, not understanding what sexual attraction was.

Greg sent him a small smile though and grabbed up his hand to squeeze for support. "Myc, asexuality is different from libido or sex drive. You can still get hard and have erections and get off without being sexually attracted to anyone."

"Gregory, how do you know of this? Are there many people who feel this way? Are _you_ asexual?"

Greg chuckled a little. "I know about it because my ex-wife was gray-sexual. It's a subset of asexuality. When we were first together, I learned a lot about it so that I could understand her wants and needs better. Turns out it wasn't her wants and needs I needed to worry about though," he grumbled remembering how they had slowly fallen apart as he'd advanced through his career. "As for how many people there are, it's uncertain. Last time I read something, experts were saying that about one percent of the population was asexual or a subset of it. But they also said it could be as much as four percent. Also, no, I'm not asexual. I'm pansexual."

Mycroft sat still as he let this information roll over him. How had he never learned this before? After all these years of feeling broken and hurt by others, this was the answer? Not only that, but there were others who felt the same way? He'd never thought to do a search on this. He'd only assumed that it was a peculiarity of his body, or that eventually if he found the right person he would feel something. The car slowing down pulled him out of his thoughts and he looked up to see they'd arrived at his townhome. He looked back over at Greg to see that the man was watching him patiently, and that he was still holding his hand tightly. "You okay, Myc?" he asked quietly as Lewiston strode around to open the doors for them.

"Yes, or at least I will be," he answered. "Gregory, what else do you know about asexuality?"

Greg smiled and glanced at Mycroft's home. "Invite me in for a cuppa, and I'll tell you everything I know and where to find out more." Mycroft returned the smile and gladly led the way into the townhome, Gregory firmly at his side with a hand tangled in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the late update on this (it's 10:35pm here). It was my first day of classes and I forgot about uploading. Anyway, hope you like this chapter. There's only one more after this! I should have it ready and up for you to read by this coming Friday (8/26). Thanks for reading!
> 
> P.S. The research I got to do for this chapter with Henry Poole & Co. and men in suits/tuxes was VERY satisfying! Probably the best research I've ever gotten to do!! Also, did you know you can get an inside tour of Henry Poole & Co. on Google Maps Street View? It's pretty awesome! It was a great help while writing the dressing room scenes!


	6. +1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... this is it! The story is done. I had a great time writing this! I hope you enjoyed it as well. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Also, here is a picture of the boys in their outfits for the Royal Caledonian Ball! I photoshopped the image using pixlr.com.

Greg leaned against Mycroft, resting his head against his shoulder, and pulled the blanket up farther. It was the night before the Royal Caledonian Ball and the two men were cuddled up on Mycroft's sofa watching Doctor Who. Mycroft had never seen the newer series, insisting that it couldn't possibly be better than the classic. After all, no Doctor could possibly be better than Jon Pertwee. However Greg had convinced him to give it a try. Greg's favorite Doctor was Peter Davison. They had been steadily making their way through the new series and Mycroft had to reluctantly admit that it held potential. Christopher Eccleston's Doctor was quite well done, though Jon Pertwee would always remain superior in his opinion.

Mycroft felt Greg grab hold of his hand then and squeeze it. He smiled and leaned down to press a kiss on top of Greg's head. The politician was still amazed at this relationship they shared. After he'd explained to Gregory his lack of a desire towards coitus, he'd thought for sure that the Detective Inspector would leave him. However he was instead quite surprised to find that Greg not only understood and accepted him, but that he knew a _name_ for people who experienced similar desires (or lack thereof). Since then, Mycroft had researched asexuality and it's subsets including gray-sexuality and demi-sexuality. There were others under the asexual umbrella as well, but he hadn't had a chance to read about them yet. He'd also found out that many asexuals differentiated sexual attraction from romantic attraction. Every prefix that could be applied to sexual attraction could also be applied to romantic attraction. Mycroft wasn't quite sure what his romantic orientation was yet. He was still adjusting to the idea of being asexual.

The politician sighed happily and melted just a little bit more into Greg. They'd been spending more and more time together despite their busy schedules. It was challenging sometimes, but they made it work. They split their time between Greg's flat and Mycroft's townhouse. The first time Greg had taken him home to his flat the DI had been a little nervous, but Mycroft had loved the cozy little two story walk up. It was in a quiet neighborhood and it was obvious Greg had put some effort into making the place a home… someplace to come back and relax on the rare occasions he was off work. That night, and many after it, Greg had cooked for him and Mycroft had gotten to experience firsthand the results of Chef Sébastien Lestrad's teachings. Greg had made white coq au vin with long-grain rice and asparagus for dinner and crème brûlée for dessert. Mycroft had been unable to stop complimenting him the entire evening.

The Doctor Who episode was just ending and it pulled Mycroft back to the present. "What do you think? Another one?" Greg asked tilting his head back to see Mycroft's face.

"But of course, Gregory," Mycroft quirked his lips upward. "It ended on a cliff hanger. We must find out what happens next." He gestured towards the credits rolling.

"Good point," Greg agreed and used the remote control to get to the next episode. After he'd hit play for the next one, he snuggled back into Mycroft and relaxed once more. "Those damn gas masks are gonna give me nightmares," he grumbled.

Mycroft only smiled and wrapped an arm around Greg's shoulders. They finished out the episode, watching as the Doctor, Rose, and Captain Jack Harkness managed to escape the terrifying gas mask people and return them to their normal forms. Mycroft had to admit that the two-part episode was probably his favorite thus far, though the third episode of the series, _The Unquiet Dead_ , had been quite good too.

Once the episode ended, both men stretched. Greg rose first, shivering slightly as the blanket slipped off him. "I should probably get going," he murmured, looking around for where he'd left his jacket.

"Stay," Mycroft said automatically.

Greg halted and glanced over at him. "What?"

"Stay here… with me for the night," Mycroft repeated, feeling his cheeks grow hotter.

"Myc…" Greg started to say something, but then paused. He looked the ginger haired man over and smiled. "Okay."

Mycroft returned the smile and took Greg's hand to lead him towards the bedroom. This was the first time one of them had spent the night at the other's place. Butterflies fluttered around Mycroft's stomach as he showed Greg the bedroom and ensuite bathroom. He loaned Greg a pair of silky pajamas and went to get ready for bed himself. They moved around each other with surprising ease considering they'd never done this before. After both men had completed their nightly routines, they found each other at the left side of the bed. "Oh, do you sleep on this side too?" Greg asked.

"Usually, but I can make an exception tonight," Mycroft nodded.

Greg grinned then and plopped down on the bed. He started to roll towards the middle of the king size mattress, but not before he tugged Mycroft in with him. The ginger made a small sound of surprise as he fell in an ungainly heap on the bed beside the silver haired giggling man. "Or we could just share," Greg smirked as Mycroft righted himself.

"Next time a little warning, perhaps?" Mycroft replied, but a small smile graced his lips belaying his harsher tone.

Greg ignored the tone altogether and pulled Mycroft close before tugging the blankets up. "Is this okay?" he asked.

Mycroft let the butterflies in his stomach settle as he took inventory of himself. Greg was lying on his side pressed against Mycroft who was laying on his back. One of the DI's hands rested on Mycroft's chest and a leg had started to cover his hip. "I… yeah, this is fine," he replied settling into the comfy mattress.

"You sure?" Greg insisted. "I mean, I just remember how my ex-wife didn't like cuddling too much sometimes. She needed space now and then."

Mycroft placed a hand over the one resting on his chest and turned to face Greg. "I'm not your ex-wife, Gregory," he stated. "However I appreciate the concern."

Greg seemed to relax a bit and smiled again. "Okay, just let me know if the touching is too much."

"I promise I'll let you know."

With that, the two men exchanged soft pleasant kisses and turned out the light before falling asleep. Though Greg fell asleep faster than Mycroft and the politician had the distinct pleasure of feeling secure and safe in the DI's arms as soft warm humid breaths puffed against his shoulder. If only someone had told him when he was younger that relationships could be like this. But then he might never have met Gregory, and that was unacceptable. He smiled as he closed his eyes and thought that he wouldn't change a thing in his past if being with this man in the future was the outcome.

oOoOoOo

The next morning, Mycroft woke to find Greg still snuggled up next to him. The DI's warm brown eyes were open though and studying Mycroft with a small smile. With a yawn and a stretch, he woke slowly. "Sleep well?" he mumbled, still not quite awake enough to speak clearly.

"Best I've slept in years," Greg replied before stretching his neck up to kiss Mycroft's cheek.

Mycroft gave him a sleepy smile and returned the kiss to Greg's forehead. "We should probably get up and get something to eat," he murmured. Neither man had to work today. They had both taken the full day off for the Royal Caledonian Ball. It had taken some strings being pulled, but Anthea had made it work.

Greg glanced over at the clock and let out a sigh. "Yeah, I suppose," he replied.

Mycroft glanced at the clock as well. It was going on ten o'clock, and he blinked in surprise. He hadn't slept in this late in years! He felt a relaxed feeling of contentment wash over him at the realization that sleeping next to Greg had inspired this. Apparently he trusted and felt safe with the DI more than he thought? They took turns showering and dressing. Mycroft shyly handed Greg a set of jeans, t-shirt, and underclothing all in the DI's size. The silver haired man quirked an eyebrow and commented, "I feel like I should be concerned about this, but I'm not." He reached up to peck Mycroft on the cheek before going to shower.

Mycroft, who had showered first and was already dressed, went down to the kitchen where Lewiston had already started breakfast. The man was a modern Jack-of-all-Trades, and cooking was without a doubt one of the best talents in his repertoire. Though now that he'd tasted Gregory's amazing talents, Mycroft had shifted his estimations of excellent cooking. "Will Mr. Lestrade be down shortly, sir?" he asked as he cracked eggs into a bowl to whisk.

"Yes, he shouldn't be too long."

"Very good, sir." Lewiston continued to put together two ham, cheese, onion, and pepper omelets. He was just sliding the two meals along with toast onto plates when Greg joined them.

"Mmm! Smells delicious!" he pronounced upon entry to the kitchen.

He joined Mycroft at the breakfast bar and gladly helped himself to the omelet and cup of coffee already waiting. "So what's the plan for today?" he asked in between bites.

"There is little that needs to be done before four thirty," Mycroft replied.

"Is that when we need to start getting ready for this shindig?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes at the term, but nodded. "Yes. The doors to the ballroom open at six and events start at seven."

"Excellent. I know exactly what we can do then," Greg grinned before finishing his omelet. They finished breakfast and took a cup of tea with them to the couch where they spent the rest of their free time cuddled together watching Christopher Eccleston prevent the Earth from being taken over by various alien races.

They finished the first season of the new series and had just watched the Christmas episode with a freshly regenerated David Tennant when Lewiston came to collect them. "Sirs," he addressed them as the credits began to roll. "It's nearing time to get ready for the Royal Caledonian Ball," he announced.

"Yes, Lewiston, of course," Mycroft said, and both men slowly rose to their feet.

With Lewiston's aide, they dressed and were ready to go by half past five. Greg had kept insisting that he could get ready on his own, but Lewiston simply kept handing him things that he needed in between assisting Mycroft. By the time all was said and done, both men looked dashing in their white tie tuxes. Greg's was a more modern tux that cut sharply back along the waist leaving sharp angles and allowing the viewer able to see more of the white vest underneath. Mycroft's tux in comparison was slightly longer in the front and gradually swooped back to the tails.

Both men gazed at each other in wide-eyed wonder for a minute before snapping out of it. "You look amazing, Myc," Greg complimented.

"As do you, Gregory," Mycroft nodded. "Shall we?" he asked holding out an elbow.

Greg ran his arm through Mycroft's and the two dapper gentlemen made their way out to the garage behind the townhouse. Greg was about to head for the usual black sedan when Mycroft tugged him toward another black car. This one was a Rolls Royce Phantom. Greg stared for a moment before readily climbing in the backseat via the door Lewiston had opened for him. Mycroft smirked and climbed in the other side. The trip to the Grosvenor House Hotel didn't take long, and when they arrived there was already a crowd of people waiting to get in.

Mycroft and Greg joined the queue and were surprised by how quickly it moved. They flashed their invitation and soon enough were allowed admittance to the ballroom. There were already at least a hundred people there. A good majority of them wore Highland evening dress in a variety of colors and several of the women also sported tartan sashes. However there was perhaps a third of the attendees who were not sporting tartan at all. Mycroft and Greg fell into this category. Greg had brought it up earlier when he was still being fitted for this tux, and Mycroft had said that because he didn't come from Scottish ancestry, he'd never felt comfortable donning the traditional kilt. Greg had nodded and agreed.

The two made their way around the ballroom and Mycroft introduced Greg to a good number of politicians and their wives. Several of the older crowd gave them a squinty look upon seeing their elbows linked, but no one said anything. In fact there were two women, one in a black dress and one in white, sporting matching green tartan sashes and wearing tiaras who smiled widely at them and linked their own elbows before making their way across the room. At one point, the two were in a group of six other politicians talking shop, so to speak, until the Minister of Defense made a reference to a recent rugby match. From there Gregory gladly picked up the thread of the conversation and soon the two men along with a couple of others were comparing stats and arguing about players and referee calls. Mycroft smiled as he watched the most important man in his life easily converse with important British politicians.

They got some food about an hour and a half into the event, and joined a table with the same two women they'd seen earlier. The one in the black dress introduced herself as MSP Moira Glenn-Coutts and the woman in white was her spouse Kathleen Glenn-Coutts. "I admit that it's refreshing to meet another same-sex couple here," Kathleen, who preferred to be called Kathy, said. "While it's becoming more and more acceptable in society, it's still rather new to the political sphere."

"Yes," Mycroft agreed. "Though I find that if one ignores convention it makes for a happier life all around."

The two women chuckled at that. "It's even better when you ignore convention _and_ continue to succeed in your chosen field," Moira grinned.

Greg laughed at that and nodded. "Most of the lads down at the Yard know about my relationship with Myc here, and aren't bothered one bit. The Chief Inspector on the other hand has been giving me dirty looks for the past few weeks since he found out though."

"Gregory, why didn't you tell me this?" Mycroft asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

Greg simply continued to smile though. "Because the Superintendent, the guy above him, recently congratulated me on our relationship and said that his son, who is gay, wants to join the force and he wondered if I'd be willing to speak to him about it."

At this all four chuckled and Kathy raised her glass of champagne. "To defying convention!"

The other three joined her in the toast and clinked their glasses together before draining them. They spent another fifteen minutes chatting with the couple until they split up and continued their journey around the ballroom. A slower song began playing as they reached the dancefloor and Greg offered a hand to Mycroft. "May I have this dance?" he asked, a roguish grin spreading across his face.

Mycroft only hesitated for a moment, a blush suffusing his cheeks, before accepting and following the silver haired DI to the dance floor. It seemed Gregory actually knew how to dance. Mycroft was surprised to learn this as he was swept into slow dance, holding hands and standing close to Greg. Several pairs of eyes watched the two men on the dancefloor, but Mycroft simply shut his eyes, breathed in the woodsy smell of Greg's cologne, and focused solely on the man in front of him. They danced the entire song and the next. The next was more of a slow waltz, but Greg led them through it steadily.

When the second dance ended, another more modern dance took its place and the two stepped off the dancefloor and made their way upstairs to the balcony. There was an area to go outside for a bit of fresh air and the two men took advantage of it. The ballroom was getting a bit warm with all of the people dancing in it. A member of the wait staff passed them at that moment and both men grabbed a water goblet from the tray. They moved over to the railing on the balcony and leaned against it as they rehydrated. "Thank you for coming with me, Gregory," Mycroft said quietly.

"Thank _you_ for inviting me, Myc," the DI bumped shoulders with the politician. "I've had a lot more fun than I thought I would."

Mycroft smiled and raised an eyebrow as he turned to face Greg. "You thought this would be a boring affair with hundreds of people talking politics?"

Greg chuckled a bit. "Not too far off, to be honest."

Mycroft chuckled as well. "While there are some matters discussed at these events, mostly it's a chance to enjoy oneself and feel good that the ticket proceeds are going to charity."

It was getting towards the end of the night as they stood close to each other on the balcony. A good third of the crowd had left or was leaving. However the ball would still be open for another hour yet. Mycroft watched as the Minister of Defense and his wife and daughter exited the hotel and entered the back of a vehicle waiting for them. The black limo drove off into the night as Greg slid a hand over to cover his. "I really do want to thank you for bringing me to this, Mycroft," he said. "I realize what it could mean for you at work."

Mycroft leaned forward and gave Greg a soft kiss that the Detective returned, bringing a hand up to cup the back of Mycroft's head. When they pulled apart, they were standing very close to one another. Greg's hand had slid down to rest on Mycroft's shoulder, and Mycroft's hands were resting on Greg's waist. "My standings within the British Government are secure enough that I need not worry about appearing at a social gathering with another man. Though I do believe we've started a trend. Did you notice a few of the younger members of parliament looking at us?" Greg shook his head, his hand sliding down to Mycroft's forearm, but they remained close. "Yes, there were at least two who brought girlfriends and upon seeing us, seemed disappointed they hadn't brought someone else."

"Well that's encouraging. Maybe a new era is in store for the British Government? One of more tolerance?"

Mycroft snorted and rolled his eyes as he took a step back and grabbed up the water goblet he'd set down on the railing. "Don't get your hopes up too soon."

Greg smiled back at him, but a second later his brow crinkled with worry and his eyes widened when he saw a red laser dot on Mycroft's chest. "MYC!" he shouted as he pushed Mycroft backwards.

A single shot from a sniper's rifle rang out as they both fell to the ground behind the balcony railing. Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg and caught him before they hit the ground, cushioning the DI's fall at his own expense. "Gregory?" Mycroft's voice was an octave higher than normal. "Gregory, answer me!" he demanded as screams sounded around them and several members of security dashed forward.

Greg groaned and clutched at Mycroft's wrist, but didn't move any further. Mycroft spotted the bullet hole that had torn through Greg's jacket about halfway down his torso and to the right side of his spine. Blood seeped up through the cloth, quickly soaking through it. "SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULENCE!" Mycroft shouted. He didn't notice that one of the security task members was already on his phone. "Gregory, please stay with me!" he pressed against the wound, trying to put pressure on it while at the same time making sure Greg was still breathing.

It felt like hours had passed until emergency response crews arrived on the scene and took over applying pressure to the DI's wound. They tried to push Mycroft back, but the man refused to let go of Gregory's hand, his palms slick with Greg's blood. Instead, the EMTs simply worked around him to stabilize Greg for transport then took Mycroft with them when they left. In the ambulance, Greg woke up for just a moment, and Mycroft felt his heart leap as the DI called out for him. "I'm right here, Gregory," he answered. "Stay with me, please. Don't leave," he pleaded as the man blacked out again.

When they finally arrived at a private hospital that Mycroft had directed them to, they quickly moved Greg into emergency surgery where Mycroft could not follow. Despite his position with the staff at this private hospital, they refused to let him in the operating theater. However they did allow him to be in the observation room above the operation. One of the nurses gently coaxed him in to washing his hands of Greg's blood, but there was little to be done about his blood soaked suit. From the observation room, Mycroft watched the skilled surgeons intently while making several phone calls. Anthea was the first phone call, and she arrived at the hospital faster than should have been possible. He hadn't asked her to bring anything, or to come at all, only to start finding out what had happened and who had done this. However she arrived in the observation room shortly after they'd rang off. In one hand she held a fresh outfit and in the other a file with photos from CCTV cameras in the area of the shooting as well as recent police reports.

He thanked her, but he refused to move from his spot in front of the large viewing window in order to wash up and change out of the blood soaked clothing. He clutched at the file folder desperately as he watched the operation below. The bullet had torn through the skin and muscle, nicked Greg's liver, and lodged itself in the sixth rib. The surgeon was having troubles getting it out without damaging the bone too much, but eventually they pulled out a chunk of metal and deposited it into a glass container where it was sealed as evidence. Only after they had sewn Greg back up and put him in a recovery ward did Mycroft agree to go clean up and change. He showered and changed into the clothes Anthea had brought for him, making sure to bag up his bloody clothes for evidence later. When he emerged, Anthea was there waiting to take the old clothes for evidence. His brother was also there, much to his surprise. Sherlock was speaking quickly with Anthea when he come out of the bathroom. She was telling him about the CCTV footage and what evidence they had gathered so far. His brother nodded and asked questions occasionally. "Sherlock," he announced himself. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to figure out who shot Lestrade, of course," Sherlock scoffed. "The Yard is already on it, but those bumbling buffoons can rarely figure out which way is up let alone who shot someone." He rolled his eyes and continued studying the police report.

Mycroft smiled and stepped closer. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you cared for the Detective Inspector."

"And I'd say you care too much, Mycroft," Sherlock retorted. "What happened to _caring is not an advantage_?"

"Though it happens infrequently, I was wrong it seems," Mycroft responded.

Sherlock frowned at him, but didn't comment. "Obvious that this was a professional marksman and you were the intended target," Sherlock set the police report down and seemed to be staring off into space. However Mycroft knew his younger brother was inside his mind palace sorting through all the information it had just gained. "I'll need a closer look at the bullet they pulled from Lestrade, but based on the photo I saw, I'm nearly positive it's one that Russian snipers prefer." He paused for a moment and glanced over at his brother. "What have you done to the Russians, brother?" he asked in an accusatory tone.

"Nothing," Mycroft scoffed. "It's not my fault they took offence to my negotiations with the Iranians." His tone was calm and unbothered, but inside his stomach was in his throat and his heart was beating slightly too fast. He needed to see Gregory again, to make sure he was alright.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. "Go, see Lestrade," he murmured. "You're useless in this state." Once again, Mycroft was annoyed at how little he could hide from his brother. However he didn't argue as Sherlock swept off, his long Belstaff coat flaring out behind him.

Mycroft watched him stalk out, confident that he would find the persons responsible for this. Sighing as tiredness swept over him (it was nearing on three in the morning by now), Mycroft made his way to Greg's room. They had just put him in his own private room, but he was still under close observation. Mycroft wearily sat down in the cushioned chair near the bed and scooched it closer so that he could hold Greg's hand. He shut his eyes and listened to the slow breathing of the man next to him, taking comfort in the fact that he was still breathing at all.

oOoOoOo

"Myc?" a groggy, hoarse voice called out to him.

Mycroft grumbled, but when he felt the hand holding his squeeze slightly, he jerked awake. "Greg," he murmured.

The silver haired man grinned at him and squeezed his hand again. "Hey," he said weakly.

"I should call the doctor in," Mycroft said reaching to press the call button.

Greg closed his eyes for a moment, but opened them again when the door to his room glided open. "Mr. Lestrade, good to see you awake," a woman with warm brown skin and black hair pulled back into a braid said. "I'm Doctor Martha Jones. I'm the one who operated on you last night… or rather this morning. How are you feeling?"

"Sore as hell," Greg grumbled trying to sit up.

"Hang on, I'll raise the bed a bit, but it's better if you remain lying down," she said as she moved forward and pressed a button to raise the head of the bed a foot or so. "The pain is to be expected. So long as it remains more of an ache rather than a sharp pain, we're good. Do you remember what happened?"

"I… We," he looked over at Mycroft. "We were at the Royal Caledonian Ball. We went out onto the balcony, and… someone tried to shoot you, Myc," he frowned. "Do you know who it is? Have they caught him?"

Mycroft shook his head as he noticed Greg's heart monitor pick up a bit. "No, Sherlock's on the case though, so it shouldn't be too much longer."

Greg seemed to relax back a bit and nodded. "Mr. Lestrade, it sounds like you're already recovering well. I'll have a nurse stop by later to take your vitals. Just hit that call button again if you need anything," Doctor Jones gave them a small smile before slipping out.

As soon as the door had closed, Mycroft leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Greg's hand that he was still clutching at. He could feel his own heart thumping in his chest, and he was glad that Greg was the only one hooked up to the EKG monitor. "What's all this then?" Greg asked with a small smile on his face, his voice still hoarse from disuse.

"I thought I'd lost you," Mycroft replied quietly as he pulled back.

However Greg tugged him back forward. His strength wasn't up to par at all though, so Mycroft only halted his retreat. "Come over here," Greg motioned with his head.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

Mycroft frowned, but did as requested and hesitantly climbed onto the bed with Greg. The DI could barely move without some kind of pain, but he managed to scooch just enough to make room for Mycroft to lay beside him. "You didn't lose me, Myc. You will never lose me if I have anything to say about it." Greg squeezed the hand he was still holding.

Mycroft's eyes flicked downward as he spoke next. "You're the most important person to ever wander into my life, Gregory. However I realize that we both hold high risk jobs, so perhaps…. perhaps it is best if we sever this connection before either of us gets hurt more than we already have."

"Myc," Greg's eyes widened and the EKG monitor spiked. "Mycroft Holmes," he said sternly. "I refuse to give you up over what might happen in the future. And if you try to tell me you don't feel the same about me as I do for you, I will call out your lies every time."

Mycroft's blue gray eyes wandered back up to see Greg's warm brown ones drilling into him. "I just don't want to hurt you," he repeated.

"It's inevitable, Myc," Greg replied in a calmer voice. "At some point or another, every couple hurts each other. It's what you do afterwards that makes a difference."

Mycroft stared at Greg for a moment before leaning forward and pressing a firm kiss to his lips. "I love you, Gregory Lestrade," he said quietly.

Greg smiled and pressed a kiss to Mycroft's nose (it was the farthest he could reach without cringing in pain). "So we're agreed then? No more talk of leaving each other? Because we're stronger together. I don't know about you, but this is the best I've felt with another person ever."

"I've already told you my relationship history," Mycroft mumbled. "But yes, I agree that we're stronger united." Mycroft's eyes flickered down then back up again as a small smile crept onto his face. "Besides, I caught you this time, but I have a couple more to do before I catch up to you."

Greg barked out a laugh, but cringed as the movement pained him. "Oh I don't know that that even counted!" he retorted. "I mean, I took a bullet for you! That's worth like ten catches! You've got a long ways to go, Holmes!"

Mycroft grinned and leaned forward to press a kiss to the DI's forehead. "Then I'd best stay close to you."

"You better," Greg returned the grin.

oOoOoOo

Four days later found Greg sitting on Mycroft's sofa. He was clad in pajamas still as it was the most comfortable clothing to wear that wouldn't put pressure on his wounds. He'd been put on sick leave for at least two weeks. However he was growing bored already and was emailing Sally, begging her to send him something to do… anything to keep his mind preoccupied!

"Gregory Sébastien Lestrade!" Greg cringed at the use of his middle name and looked up to see Mycroft standing in the doorway to the living room. "What did I say about relaxing?" he asked as he entered, Lewiston following him with a tea tray.

"I _am_ relaxing!" Greg protested.

"No you're not," Mycroft replied as he sat down beside the DI. "You're emailing your co-workers."

"How did you –? No… never mind," Greg shook his head. "I'm bored, Myc. It's been four days without any news on who tried to shoot you. I want to help!" A rosy blush spread across Mycroft's cheeks at this, and Greg eyed him suspiciously. "Myc? What is it?"

"I have news on that front," he said, not looking at Greg and accepting a cup of tea from Lewiston. "Sherlock has succeeded in finding the parties responsible."

"You… you've been getting reports this whole time and didn't tell me?" Greg also accepted a cup from Lewiston, but didn't drink from it as he stared at Mycroft.

"I didn't want to stress you any more than was necessary."

Greg's eyebrows furrowed and he frowned. "We're going to have to have a chat about communication." Mycroft didn't reply and took a sip of tea. Greg sighed and gave up being angry. "Alright, out with it then," he said.

"Sherlock's initial assessment was correct. It was a team of Russian assassins. The Russian government of course is claiming to have had no idea."

Greg snorted into his cup of tea. "Of course. So have they been caught then?"

"They've been dealt with," Mycroft replied with deliberate vagueness.

"Define _dealt with_."

"They shall not bother us anymore, nor will they attempt anymore assassinations."

"Myc, did you…?"

Mycroft glanced over at Greg who was sending him a worried look. "They have been locked up in a state of the art prison and will be kept in isolation for a very long time, Gregory."

"Oh… okay then."

"But do not doubt that if they had succeeded in ending your life, I would have gladly ended theirs."

Greg turned a little pale at that, but had to admit that he'd probably do the same if the situation were reversed. He blew on his tea as he thought about this and finally decided that it didn't matter. "So," he switched topics of conversation. "When's our next date? You have a lot of catching to do, remember?"

Mycroft grinned. "I thought we could hold off on any dates that might involve one of us catching the other for a little bit. Instead we'll be having Italian tonight and continue watching David Tennant as the Doctor."

"Sounds like my kind of date," Greg grinned as he shut his laptop and took a sip of his tea.


End file.
